Sheath of Shadows
by Bluesable
Summary: (8 Chapters) - A followup from 'Servant of the Shard' - Entreri and Jarlaxle hunt for a bandit band hiding in the mountain caves. Sorry about the Chapter thing... It's all one big lump. Review PLEASE!!!


Sheath of Shadows  
  
Disclaimer: The recognisable characters appearing in this story are © TSR/WotC, all rights reserved. They are being used for entertainment purposes only. No profit is being made by the author for writing this story. Neither infringement upon nor challenge to the rights of the copyright holders is intended, nor should any be inferred.  
  
Mike - yoghurtmingvase@hotmail.com  
  
Chapter 1 - Soaked  
  
Entreri sniffed. The rain was doing nothing to improve his already irritable mood, and the old, worn out cloak that needed replacing did little to stop or delay the inexorable drenching of his body.  
  
Even more grating to the assassin was the mercenary, standing only a few feet behind him, apparently taking a comfortable nap. Jarlaxle's cloak was no better than Entreri's, and they were both under the same tree, yet the drow seemed to be as snug as a slumbering bear during midwinter. That plume on his hat wasn't even damp!  
  
Muttering about drow and their endless tricks, or this particular drow, Entreri tried to sink within himself and ignore the rain as they waited, deep in the forest, for their contact - an informant that they needed to carry on their hunt, only the man had insisted on a private, remote location for the transaction. Even with his willpower, Entreri wasn't used to so much rain, far from his hot and dry home city of Calimport. Sure, he had seen much snow before in Icewind Dale, and that had surely been cold, but this was different. It was hot and raining - the humid air suffocated him, and though the assassin showed no outward signs of this unpleasant weather due to his discipline, inside he was boiling - though he suspected that his foul mood resulted from more than just the weather.  
  
The two newly employed bounty hunters had been looking for their prey for many weeks, but all had been in vain. The very fact that he had to rely on someone else to do the hunting for him irked the assassin no end. He tried to tell himself that this was no different from getting an informant to locate a target, but this, for some reason, felt different.  
  
A figure could be seen moving in the distance, and Entreri's mood improved just one fraction. He nudged his companion in the ribs - perhaps a bit harder than necessary - to awake him from his sleep.  
  
The mercenary started in surprise as the elbow shoved him off balance, threatening to send him crashing into the rain-drenched mud. "Hmm?" Even Jarlaxle had droopy eyes when he just woke up from sleep. "What?" "I didn't think the great Jarlaxle would risk actually sleeping with such a formidable enemy around," Entreri snickered. "Are you softening up in the surface?" "I think you take too much pride in yourself, my friend," Jarlaxle said, his end words being consumed by a yawn. "Perhaps I do not consider you such a great foe." Entreri's ensuing glare would have chilled the marrow out of most, but Jarlaxle was used to his company. "Why did you wake me?" Jarlaxle said, averting his gaze to the figure that was fast approaching. "Is that our permit to seek a fine tavern at last?" Entreri didn't answer, and looked to the figure instead. "Do we use our aliases?" the mercenary asked once more. "It would be wise to," Entreri said. "We have no way to stop the wagging tongue of Bunto short of slicing it out." "At least he will not contact our targets," Jarlaxle laughed. "Besides, is it not a good thing for an individual as he to talk about our exploits? Fame can only increase our popularity with our clients." Entreri couldn't refute the fact, even though he felt like shoving both his blades, especially the big red one, down between the lips of Bunto. Those distinctive fat lips were in view now, and the man hailed the two. How curious this man seemed. He was of average height, average build, and average head size, yet his lips looked like they belonged to a troll. "Greetingsz!" Bunto slurred. He had a large blackened gap between his two front teeth. "Maszter Drisszt and Maszter Wulfgarn! I hafve your required infvormation." "Speak quickly if you value your existence," Entreri growled quietly. "What is this? This is no way to welcome a friend! Stop this uncivilised affair, I say!" Jarlaxle interjected. "I apologise for the impetuous actions of my barbarian friend. He has not been around civilised people for long enough to know any better." "Thank you, szir," Bunto laughed, until he looked at Entreri, and he coughed. "Asz I hafve szaid, I hafve the infvormation."  
  
A detailed explanation passed out through Bunto's fat maw, and Jarlaxle passed a bulging pouch of gems to the man. "I never will be completely pleased dealing with such as him," Entreri remarked at Bunto's departing back, always displeased with the exorbitant riches being spent for such a small effort. Bunto reminded Entreri too much of one Sha'lazzi. "That's the only profit he makes," Jarlaxle said, defending the man's profession. "Surely you understand the price of information?" Of course Entreri knew of the values of an informant. It was just this particular one that made him want to slander his methods of living, but Entreri stopped himself as he remembered an important fact. After all, his drow companion had lived off such an occupation for many, many years in the drow city of Menzoberranzan. In truth, it could be said that the mercenary was the epitome of such an existence, having nothing less than thrived in the totally female-dominated city.  
  
Jarlaxle gave the assassin a sly wink, as if he had followed his every line of thought.  
  
He probably has, thought Entreri, a sour expression finding its way into his already annoyed visage.  
  
"Come along," Jarlaxle said, lightly skipping out of their rather useless shelter. "You do want to find a warm roof before sundown, don't you?" Entreri sighed. He didn't really know why, but he did. The assassin began to walk through the woods, to find again the trail that they had used to get to their appointed spot in the first place. Jarlaxle smiled, noting how. human his companion seemed to be getting every day.  
  
They would get along.  
  
* * *  
  
They spotted a town an hour after they had left the forest, and travelled on along the same road towards the town, now clearly visible only a few miles away. Smoke plumed from the chimneys, and many of the windows now flickered with light as evening fell.  
  
As the two companions trudged side by side, the sky ahead of them began to redden, and soon, the whole eastern sky was a swirl of blue mixed with reddish gold. Rain clouds that were now clearing highlighted the sight, bright orange puffs that meandered along. Birds chatted a last verse now that night was about to fall.  
  
Jarlaxle sighed.  
  
"I must admit that your world is filled with more beautiful sights than mine," the drow said. "Though this light still brings pain to my eyes, I cannot deny the beauty of such a spectacle."  
  
Entreri was still surprised, would probably always be surprised, by Jarlaxle. "I had not thought you would find the surface comforting," he said quietly. "You have lived in the Underdark all you life." "The Underdark is an immeasurably vast place, my friend," Jarlaxle replied. "And I tell you now, there are indeed wonders in the deep. Caverns so immense that you cannot see the ceiling. Enormous veins of precious stones and metal, and vast, bottomless underground lakes that stretch for miles on end. What you have seen during your short stay at Menzoberranzan is nothing but a tiny portion of our great underworld. "Yet, of what you have seen there, the people, the ways of living. It is more or less what one could expect to be the same in the whole Underdark." Jarlaxle sighed again. "One cannot stop to smell the mushrooms, for doing so, one would expose their back to an aspiring dagger. Even though the excitement thrills me and I thrive in such a place, others are so busy watching their own backs that they simply do not have the time to drink in the splendours. I cannot remember a single time when I wasn't alert, even asleep."  
  
Entreri regarded his companion curiously. Jarlaxle was indeed prone to endless sessions of chatting, but he had never really talked about serious matters.or philosophical reflections.  
  
Jarlaxle drank in a deep draught of evening air. "On the surface," he continued. "The dangers are definitely there - monsters lurk in the shadows and enemies are fairly abundant. Yet here, there are moments of respite in between, opportunities for a weary traveller to rest his body and soul, to simply take in the beauty of the world. That, I think, makes the surface a more beautiful place." "Since when did Jarlaxle the mercenary drow learn to appreciate the beauty of the skies?" Entreri said. "Do you not prefer the stone ceiling above you?" "I still do, in a way," Jarlaxle said, scratching his chin as he had seen Entreri do so. "It is much more. comforting. And there is a certain. eminence of stone that makes it pleasant. In spite of that, ask me not about the lovely and fascinating qualities of stone, for I am a stranger to it," the drow elf laughed. "Leave that to the dwarves and the gnomes, I say." Entreri looked at Jarlaxle once more. "I had thought your kind unable to take in such sights as being pleasant." "How about yourself?" Jarlaxle remarked. "Does. Has Artemis Entreri ever taken in such beauty? Or has he always seen these moments as a weakness?" Entreri didn't answer for a while, but he certainly pondered about it. "I would consider a drow elf able to appreciate evening sunsets as a more. unusual being." Entreri said finally. "Perhaps I am not so unlike another certain dark elf who ventured above to the surface," Jarlaxle finished with a grin.  
  
Entreri snorted at the comment and stared up at the sky.  
  
Chapter 2 - From Hiding  
  
"We shouldn't be here," Waelic said. "Too dangerous. There's rumour that we're bein' hunted," "They's only rumours," Gorgan sneered. "Don't remember a day when I ain't heard somethin' like that about me an' my band." Gorgan had suggested a small. excursion for a selected few of their band. They had lost many during their latest raid of a merchant camp. The very same one that Waelic suspected had earned Gorgan and his band so much attention recently. "They're more than rumours," Waelic said darkly. "I've had some of me contacts say they've actually heard of damned bounty hunters." "Bah," Gorgan grunted. "If we stays afraid 'o every such tittle-tattle, we's going to have to live bottled up in ourn cave all our lives. Wot's the fun in that?" "Serious warnings have to be considered." "Eh, go, if you'se so terrified," Gorgan growled, scowling around that awful scar of his, fast growing sick of his colleague. "I'm sick 'o yourn moanin'." Even if Waelic was actually quite worried about the recent rumours that he and his band were being hunted, he was not about to try and make his way back to their cave alone, not after dark. Still muttering under his breath, Waelic followed as Gorgan brashly led their underlings towards the town tavern.  
  
As they entered, Waelic felt quite vulnerable and exposed in the flickering light inside, even when they all had heavy hoods and cloaks that shrouded all their faces in shadow. The tavern was quite empty, mostly due to the late hour, but a few patrons remained, quietly chatting. They noticed a figure, sitting at a table with a companion, sipping on a glass of some fine, exquisite liquor. "Drow?" Gorgan sputtered in surprise, noticing that the hand holding the glass was totally black. "I heard 'o him," Rynn, one of Waelic's lackeys, piped up. "He's a goody drow, they says, a ranger. He's helped lotsa goodly folk - name 'o Drizzit - Von - Hurten. " "Garn," Gorgan spat. "Wot's he doin' so far south? I heard he makes his home near old Ten-Towns, that's a long way from o'er here." "He ain't none of our business, and we ain't none of his," Rynn replied. "So long as we stays outta his way, we'll be fine." "Didn't know the great Drizzit wore such a grand ould hat," Mole, another outlaw, cackled. "Lets himself known, don't he?"  
  
The five ruffians were about to sit themselves down when they passed a small billboard. Very rough, but also very recognisable, sketches of Gorgan and Waelic were pinned up on the wanted list. "What the." .Written over in thick branded words saying that bounty hunters had taken up the hunt for them.  
  
"We shouldn't be here," Waelic stammered again, except this time he was more than just nervous, was indeed clearly on the verge of panicking. "Shoulda stayed back up in the cave, where 'tis safe." "Let's get outta here," Mole said in a similar tone. "Someun's chasin' us. Likely he got friends!" "Hurry," Gorgan said, also obviously shaken. He had genuinely believed that the rumours had only been just that - rumours. He had not been so sure that their latest deed had been so significant. Now Gorgan sorely regretted that moment when he had ordered the attack. Waelic and he would have to stay in hiding for at least another few months!  
  
The bandit muttered a stream of curses under his breath as he and his small gang shuffled out of the tavern.  
  
* * *  
  
"Odd fellows, eh?" Jarlaxle said, taking another sip of his ale. "Going as soon as they came in." "Mmm?" Entreri said, looking around. "Don't tell me you didn't notice them," Jarlaxle laughed. "You are slipping." The statement caught Entreri by surprise. He really had not noticed these 'odd fellows' that Jarlaxle was talking about. Truly, were his skills, his alertness and sense of survival, deteriorating? Or was he simply beginning to trust his companion? Entreri began to say another sharp retort, but decided against it.  
  
Jarlaxle grinned at Entreri's continued silence.  
  
After a few awkward moments (for Entreri only, of course), Jarlaxle addressed the assassin. "There is nothing wrong with trusting your companion," Jarlaxle said in all seriousness. "It is beneficial to both of us, I assure you." "What was so special about them?" Entreri asked. The mercenary grinned again, seeing that the assassin simply didn't want to admit the fact that he was becoming dependant on somebody else, for any reason at all. But just for the man's sake, Jarlaxle hid the smile away from him. "Looked like bandits, they did," Jarlaxle replied, playing along. "Came in. Looked around. Then they simply went back outside again." Entreri grunted. "There are many irrational idiots in this world. Do not trouble yourself with such fools."  
  
Jarlaxle thought again of the strange men. Indeed, what he had seen of men during his time at the surface was quite. varied. Jarlaxle had at first been quite impressed with the potential of humans, having met people like the deadly Artemis Entreri, the very capable Sharlotta Vespers and a certain fascinating woman named Catti-Brie. But while there were the brilliant ones among humankind, Jarlaxle realised, soon after his. incident with the Crystal Shard, that there were a much larger number of inferior, thoroughly mediocre waela iblith* that were, by the standards of almost every race, totally worthless.  
  
Many lounged in this very tavern, men who had no aspirations, ambitions, or point in life. They seemed to. simply exist, and survive. In the drow city of Menzoberranzan, continued existence on its own involved a tremendous amount of toil and effort, as for the whole population every passing day was a struggle to survive. Any without this alertness would perish swiftly. But in these sheltered communities, the lazy could live on with minimal effort, especially those lucky enough to have been born to wealthy or noble parents.  
  
Even though he considered himself an extremely open individual about racism, (especially for a drow) Jarlaxle found bile collecting in his throat whenever he glanced at another obese paunch. Any such beings would find quick death in the Underdark, either by a passing high priestess or, more likely, by their own shamed family, house and matron.  
  
Jarlaxle shook the thoughts away. He should be trying his hardest to adapt to the surface as fast as possible, not relating to his homeland at every instance.not that he wasn't planning on returning.  
  
Oh, he most definitely was going to do that.  
  
Entreri sat and watched, glad that the main flow of the dark elf's thoughts seemed to have drifted away from the topic of Entreri's independence. He took a sip of whiskey. Then he peered into the dark fluid.  
  
Something, he thought, he had rarely indulged in during his peak years. the years before his meeting and destroying of Drizzt Do'Urden.  
  
Entreri sighed again as the potent liquor coursed down his throat.  
  
What, indeed, was becoming of him?  
  
* Waela iblith - idiotic shit (Mr. Salvatore prefers the word 'offal' but  
I'm sick of it)  
  
Chapter 3 - Swindle  
  
The innkeeper, Nagor Riggett, did as his two peculiar guests had instructed him the night before. He climbed up the stairs with an oil lamp in his hand, yawning as he tried his best to keep down the noise of his passing so as not to wake his other patrons. He reached his target door. At the top of the door was engraved,  
  
'RooMe NuMbRe NyNe'  
  
Nagor sighed, as he ever did, regretting the day he had trusted his cousin to do the doors of his inn. His corridors were, thanks to his cousin's low level of learning, full of doors number 'fore', 'ate', and even a room number 'to tens an' a tree'.  
  
Not that he himself knew how to spell, but it felt good blaming someone else anyway.  
  
He knocked on the door, and waited a while until a scuffle could be heard within. Nagor started as the bald drow creaked open the door, fully clothed, and peered suspiciously at the man. The black skinned elf sent shivers down the innkeeper's spine as he scrutinised the intruder. He then seemed to relax when he recognised the innkeeper. at least, that's what it seemed to Nagor, meaning that the dark elf didn't look like a hunting cat ready to leap.  
  
He ended up just looking like a hunting cat.  
  
"I, uh, you asked." Nagor whispered. "To be waked." "Yes, I am aware of that," Jarlaxle said, making the innkeeper jump. The drow seemed to think he was in the drinking hall! Half the bloody people of this hallway would probably have been awakened. "Thank you for your efforts. As you can see, my companion and I have already." Jarlaxle stopped and curiously considered Nagor, who was hopping, no, jumping up and down and frantically flapping his arms up and down like a baby diatryma bird yet to realise that it could not fly. "A little more silently!" the innkeeper harshly croaked, somewhere between a shriek and a whisper, but also not daring to offend a drow elf, no matter how reputedly respectable. "There are other patrons in this inn!" "Ah," Jarlaxle said. "I apologise." He seemed to think about it a moment, then remembered something. "Here is a small. compensation," the mercenary said, reaching into his pouch. "For you pains." Nagor's eyes widened to their limit as a huge, plump gold coin settled into his palm. "Th. Thank." Nagor stuttered, looking completely in a state of stupor. Jarlaxle smiled. All races of Faerun, regardless of belonging above or below the surface, loved gold. He wagered even the gods had a soft spot for gold.  
  
Jarlaxle waited until the innkeeper shambled down the stairs, still staring at the coin that held the same value as about his yearly earnings. He smirked, but didn't feel at all bad for giving the dull man a nickel coin. Likely the illusionary magic would only run out months later, probably miles away from Nagor by then.unless the man decided to keep the coin, then realize that he had been cheated for himself.  
  
Either way, it didn't matter to Jarlaxle, who would be far away from this place by that time.  
  
They were packing the rest of their items in the room, ready to set off on the hunt for their quarry at first light. Entreri stood by his cabinet, clasping his newly acquired, deep blue cloak about his shoulders.  
  
"You have cheated the goodly innkeeper," Entreri stated more than asked. "Your reputation as a noble drow would not sit so well when he figures out the ruse." "It was your idea," Jarlaxle said. "You told me to reward him. Did you think I would waste true gold for such a petty service? We were awake anyway." "You seem to have an inexhaustible supply of gold. The pouch at your side doesn't seem to diminish no matter how much gold you take out from it. Is it connected to another pocket dimension?" Entreri grinned. "Or are they magical in nature, alike to the endless daggers of your impressive Bracer?"  
  
"Perhaps, and perhaps," Jarlaxle said. "Did we rise early this morning to make use of our newly acquired information and hopefully and finally finish this gone-on-for-too-long hunt, or are we to stand here, fully clothed in our adventuring garments, to banter on, trying to guess about each other's respective secrets?" "I was thinking we could be a more. effective pair if we knew at least some of our secrets," Entreri said. "You already know all there is to know about Charon's Claw," Well, most. enough, anyway. "Yet I seem to know too little about you." "You wish to learn about me?" Jarlaxle asked, and turned to regard the assassin.  
  
"Such information is expensive," Jarlaxle grinned, thinking about how much the matron mothers of Menzoberranzan would willingly pay for such information, anything at all that would lessen the advantage of the Leader of Bregan D'aerthe. Still smiling, Jarlaxle looked at Entreri. "But may be traded," It was Entreri's turn to twist around and regard Jarlaxle. "With a similar. kind of information. About yourself, of course."  
  
Entreri smirked and finished buckling his sword belt, a clear indication that such a deal would be. unlikely at the least. "Let us depart," the assassin said. "It may take a while to find our bandits yet." Jarlaxle did not agree, but nodded. With the information that they had bought off Bunto the day before, the two skilled bounty hunters would find their prey in no time at all.  
  
It was a good life. for the time being.  
  
* * *  
  
Gorgan spun the jewel by its fine silver chain. The sapphire was oval in shape, about as large as a man's thumb, smooth as an egg, hanging from the chain at the tip. The chain was not simply attached - it was embedded into the jewel somehow, and through the rich but transparent blue, Gorgan could see the intricate veins of silver stretching out from the end of the chain into the exquisite stone. almost like the slender roots of some elegant plant.  
  
This was the family heirloom of House Davian, the item that had made him so eager to raid that merchant caravan, the very jewel that these bounty hunters were most probably working to regain for Jorn, the Patriarch of House Davian.  
  
He remembered his own emotions when he had ripped the jewel from the dying Lady Davian's hands, the elation he had felt when he confirmed with his own eyes, that, the Jewel of House Davian was indeed as magnificent as reputed.  
  
Even the flesh around his scar, running down from eye to jaw, softened whenever he considered the Jewel. It was now the hub of his happiness. Never would he let anyone, or any thing, take it from him.  
  
A man walked up to where Gorgan was seated. It was Mole. "Clear?" Gorgan asked without looking up. "Yea, boss," Mole gave him a slack salute with his short sword, knowing that his superior wasn't looking at him. "Talked to Orgle too. He's sayin's well, nothin' too special." "Keep up the guard," Gorgan said, finally breaking away his gaze from the fabulous jewel. "Ye never know." "Yea, boss." Mole turned, but paused as Gorgan said, "Get the rum. I'm thinkin' we'll be needin' some cheerin' up." Mole grinned from ear to ear and after another sloppy salute turned and happily skipped off.  
  
Gorgan sighed. He was taking a risk, he knew, but he also knew that his guards might as well not be there if they were as low-spirited as they were now. Waelic hadn't given it a second thought to crack it to their men that they were being hunted. Though Gorgan agreed with his associate on the fact that it kept the men on guard, it had killed off what was left of their morale.  
  
Though the potent liquor would probably keep most men unconscious for the next few days, Gorgan seriously doubted that any bounty hunter would be able to find their hideout in such a short time, or at all.  
  
Gorgan growled at his situation, at being forced to gamble with his band's security. Looking at the jewel in his hand, he kept on telling himself that the price was worth the prize - that if they kept to their hideout and stayed quiet for a few months, the world would forget their presence. Yes. That's what would happen, and they would be able to roam the land once more.  
  
Chapter 4 - The Hunt  
  
Bunto had been paid to give them quite straightforward directions to find the lair of the bandits. Though neither of the hunters were native to this land, both could follow such instructions with ease. Soon they reached the mountain that Bunto had taken so much trouble to describe. "There it is." Jarlaxle shifted his eye patch. "Without doubt," Entreri agreed, looking up at the distinctive peak. "The camel's humps - though I think it would have taken some imagination to think that up." The top of the mountain was shaped like the humps of a camel, but that was debatable, as the two noticed. Anyone could have easily thought they were simply two peaks next to each other. "Hmm, you surface folk have a very broad imagination," Jarlaxle scrunched his face up. "It looks more like a female lying down on her back in front of you." The assassin's eyes widened as he considered the mountain peak. It actually did. "Keep your mind out of the sewers," Entreri growled. "Your vulgar mind may corrupt even mine." "Can yours even be corrupted further?" Jarlaxle laughed, to which Entreri replied with a wicked grin. "According to our informant, the cave lies a small distance down from between those peaks," Entreri continued, his visage returning to the usual stoniness. "The south side, not the north. We are approaching from the north, so we'll have to skirt around to reach the cave." "So, if Bunto is right, our hunt will be over by sunset," Jarlaxle said contentedly. "And we shall return the jewel to its rightful owner." "Unless the jewel turns out to be of greater value than the bounty awarded," Entreri reminded Jarlaxle. "Surely, you have thought about that?"  
  
"I admit the notion has crossed my mind," the total opportunist said. "If this sapphire is as magnificent as the rumours say, we may consider it. Though I doubt if any surface jewel could ever surpass the quality of gems in the Underdark." Entreri shrugged. "It all depends on the jewel. We shall decide what to do when we see it," Entreri began to walk. "For now, let us concentrate on our hunt." Jarlaxle adjusted his hat and nodded in agreement, falling into step alongside the assassin.  
  
* * *  
  
The cave wasn't very hard to locate, once they knew what they were looking for. The cave entrance was concealed, of course, but was no problem at all to a man who had hunted blood all his life and a drow who was accustomed to hunting creatures in the Underdark much more elusive than a pack of human bandits.  
  
They lay, side by side, in a thicket placed across from the poorly concealed cave. The entrance itself was well disguised - bush and trees overlapped each other to make the entrance invisible to see from most angles. But footprints and such signs gave the entrance away to the two skilled hunters. Branches and bruised leaves were trampled into the mud in a clear trail leading into the entrance - it was obvious that the bandits never thought anybody could get this far.  
  
They simply did not know their hunters.  
  
How many do you think are within? Jarlaxle said in the drow sign language. I do not know, Entreri replied with his stilted inflections. He had quickly learned to understand the intricate language during his stay in the drow city, but speaking it was another matter. Does it matter? We will go in prepared for the worst. Though I doubt we'll be the ones who will be surprised, Jarlaxle actually managed to put a sarcastic laugh into his flashing fingers. They would hardly be expecting us. Let us waste no more time, Entreri drew his dagger. The magnificent jewelled dagger of Artemis Entreri seemed to throb with anticipation. The dagger was a horrifying life-siphon, and its wielder could channel the very life force from the tiniest nick in an unfortunate victim's flesh. I go left, Entreri signalled. I shall take up the right side and approach our prey, Jarlaxle replied back. It was obvious to Entreri that the mercenary was mocking his limited vocabulary, but he let it pass. It was not as if he could sign back a sharp, witty retort anyway.  
  
Entreri melded with the shadows, and saw his drow companion doing the same. He would never get used to how completely the flamboyant drow could conceal himself when he wanted to.  
  
Both approached cautiously, even though there was nothing to be seen guarding the entrance. After carefully studying the cave, Entreri looked to find Jarlaxle and found the mercenary at a similar position on the other side of the cave. Charge? He inquired. Seems slack, Jarlaxle signed back, sliding a magical dagger out of that incredible bracer. After you, he flashed with his left hand in a tone he used more often to a high priestess of Lolth.respectfully mocking.  
  
Entreri slipped inside.  
  
* * *  
  
Orgle the bandit was in splendid mood. Mole had just come by and told them the news that there was to be some drinking that night. He hadn't had rum in a good while, thanks to his boss's regulations, and he eagerly anticipated moistening his throat with some from the cellars. He was carrying such a barrel now.  
  
He creaked open the top and peered inside. The torchlight illuminated the dark liquid slushing inside. The poignant scent of rum twinged his nose, and his mouth watered. He closed the barrel and continued down the hallway.  
  
Suddenly a black patch of cloth flew out of nowhere and stuck flat onto the barrel. Orgle stared in total astonishment as the black cloth became an actual hole in the barrel and rum began to gush out of it. He tried to dodge out of the way, but he was too clumsy and managed to bumble away only after he had got most of the rum on his shirt and trousers. He cursed, but then heard a chuckle from the shadows. "What dirty villain did that, eh?" He yelled, pulling his axe from his shoulder. "Show yerself, I'll hack ye a good one!" He took a step towards where the sound had come from, waving the rusty axe about.  
  
He never saw the dagger coming.quite naturally, because most men did not have eyes at the bases of their necks, unlike some lucky creatures.  
  
"You laughed," Entreri glared at Jarlaxle. "You gave us away on purpose?" "No harm done," the drow grinned. "He was clumsy enough for a goblin to kill." "I like to take no chances," The assassin wiped his blade. "And I certainly don't need anyone giving me away." "I wasn't giving you away," Jarlaxle said. "I was only acting as a decoy so as to deliver you an easy kill." "Or having too much fun for your own good," Entreri muttered. "Don't do that again." The cocky mercenary merely gave his serious companion an overly flamboyant bow, which the man pointedly ignored.  
  
* * *  
  
Drow and assassin made not a sound as they continued deeper into the caves. It was a very hospitable place - dry, quite warm, and well ventilated. Jarlaxle felt quite at home in the twisting tunnels, though he frowned every time they passed by a torch. Flickering fires still hurt his eyes, especially when he used his dark vision.  
  
"There seems to be a drinking hall ahead," Entreri said. "I can hear it from here." "Around the next bend," Jarlaxle agreed. "Do you think they would notice the unfortunate absence of our friend?" "Perhaps," Entreri said. "Does it really matter? There are only half a dozen of them." "How would you know?" "I can tell," Entreri said. "I have been to a countless number of taverns and drinking halls, which your beautiful city seems to lack." "Oh, there are taverns in Menzoberranzan, my friend," Jarlaxle smiled. "Just that they are among the commoners - you spent too much of your time with the nobles. Remind me to introduce you to the drow street culture the next time we visit." "Save me the experience," Entreri replied bitterly with no sarcasm whatsoever. He would rather bring Drizzt Do'Urden back from the dead and face him again rather than return to the accursed city of the Drow.  
  
Then Entreri began to wonder - what had happened to his enemy's body? Where had Jarlaxle disposed.  
  
"I have a rather entertaining plan," Jarlaxle said. "Sit here and wait." Entreri stared at Jarlaxle, wondering what new mischief his companion was up to. But since none of them had gone awry (totally. yet), he decided to sit back and watch. It was bound to be quite amusing, and even if it became a disaster, Entreri had no fears about dealing with six half-drunk bandits, single-handedly if need be.  
  
Jarlaxle took out a ball of bat guano from one of the many inside pockets of his tunic. Taking his dagger and shaving a tiny fleck from the ball, he replaced it in his pocket. Placing the sliver of dry excrement on the palm of his hand, the drow began to murmur and chant. It was only a minor enchantment, and was soon finished. A small orange fly sprang from the sliver, one that occasionally flickered with sparks. "A powerful ally in battle?" Entreri said, dripping sarcasm like a surly dwarf. "Watch and learn, my dull cohort," Jarlaxle said, brushing aside another spine-chilling glower from the assassin. "This is a Firefly." Entreri opened his mouth, and then stopped to think about it. The assassin certainly wasn't stupid, and his sharp mind deciphered what the drow had in mind. Jarlaxle grinned, and whispered to the tiny creature from the planes of fire.  
  
Chapter 5 -Drow Pranks  
  
The bandits were sitting around a table. Various bottles and barrels of liquor were stood up in rows on an adjacent table, and they were disappearing fast. Mole was full of gas, but for some reason, he couldn't burp. "Garrrrrn," he slurred. "I feels like a bloated troll, I can't burp!" "Mayhap it'd help ye if ye stopped yer drinkin'," another bandit choked and laughed. "Just to let that air outta ye gizzard, yer not givin yer belly enough time to chuck that air out if ye kept on pourin' all that ale into it." "Arrrrrrr," Mole croaked. "It won't matter," Another bandit, sitting opposite Mole, chuckled. "He'll probly heave all his belly, air, ale, guts an' all, pretty soon." The comment was met by raucous laughter. "Might's well have as much's I can afore I do that, eh?" Mole lifted another mug.  
  
None of them noticed the summoned fly hurtle into the mug.  
  
"Wot, is Mole finally pukin'?" "Dunno, he's screamin'. Ye can't scream while yer pukin'." "Looks like he's pukin', all right. Lookit all that." "It's red!" "He's actually pukin' blood?" "Nar, it's orange!" "Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaargh!!!" Mole was hopping about, more in fright than in pain, as his mouth, lips, tongue, throat and all were immolated with flames. The ale was quite strong, and lit easily. Mole was trying to put the fire out by slapping at his face, but he couldn't do that very effectively as the flames seared his hands.and the ale wiped off onto them. Soon, both his hands were on fire as well. "Hell's Teeth, he's spewin' fire!" A drunken bandit cried, finally realising in his drunken haze that he ought to help his mate. "Grab the water!" A nearby bandit grabbed a tall, elegant glass bottle of water, and tried to pour it into Mole's mouth, but since the panicked bandit was flailing his arms around and running about screaming, most of the liquid ended up splashing all over his head and clothes instead. Except it wasn't water - the label read, 'Exquisitte Leiqwor frome the Spyne of the Wyrld' and just below, it read 'B'ohdka'. An ominous 'swoosh' sound was the only warning the bandit got when the potent liquor ignited, and the flames on poor unfortunate Mole tripled in size. "Oi, oi, stand still," the drunken bandit with the bottle said, chasing Mole around. "I can't pour it on ye if ye keeps runnin' away."  
  
Little more than thirty feet away, a dark elf was trying to suppress his laughter. quite unsuccessfully. "Hmm, even better than I thought," Jarlaxle said when at last he regained his composure - which he soon lost when Mole ran into a fellow bandit, whose tunic subsequently caught on fire. "Except for one flaw," Entreri said icily. "Now the entire cave would likely be converging on this position. That bandit's screaming is quite loud." "It is a. good diversion, don't you agree?" Jarlaxle wiped his eyes and massaged his stomach, trying to drive the dull ache away. "Do you plan to sit here and gawk for all eternity like a petrified goose, or carry on our plan and attack those bumbling fools?" Entreri said, ready to go on. "Let us." Jarlaxle burst out a chuckle, which he tried to fruitlessly disguise as a cough. "Let us go then."  
  
When the two entered, two bandits were supporting Mole as he dunked his head into a bucket of water, albeit clumsily. He kept on banging his head into the wooden bucket. Most of the flames had been doused by now. For some reason, his face didn't look all that bad - a few blisters and a generally very red visage. Perhaps the alcohol burned too well and hadn't touched the bandit's face as much as it should.  
  
Entreri immediately stalked up to a drinking bandit and slipped his dagger up beneath the fool's chin, up through the tongue. Jarlaxle began to slide a throwing dagger out of his bracer, but that clattered to the ground as the Leader of Bregan D'aerthe doubled over, laughing with sounds akin to a yelping hellhound.  
  
Entreri glared at his companion distastefully, at the drow rolling about in the floor, tears streaming from his eyes. He muttered something about stupid damned drow as the more-than-slightly-drunk bandits realised that they were under attack. It wasn't like the mighty Jarlaxle to lose his composure so easily. Entreri suspected that the mercenary was doing it just to annoy him. Entreri shrugged, and snapped Charon's Claw out of its black leather sheath. The blood-red blade gleamed in the dancing firelight, hungry for battle.  
  
Five bandits remained, yet the assassin scowled at his pitiful enemies. Only three of them could swing their weapons - of the other two, one was too drunk to even stand, and the other was Mole, who was sputtering, still trying to submerge his whole head into the bucket. The three who were comparatively sober had fumbled for their weapons and formed what they thought to be a defensive formation.  
  
Entreri didn't pause any longer, though. He wanted to be done with this quickly and collect their bounty. He coiled his legs beneath him, and leaped forward in a brutal rush. Charon's Claw flashed out front, and all three foolish bandits moved to intercept the attack. Entreri didn't follow up the attack, and the three swords clanged against each other.  
  
The assassin immediately followed up the feint with a powerful sweep across the leftmost bandit's neck, while twisting around and thrusting his dagger at another. He needn't have worried about the dagger, as the might crimson blade sheared through the scrawny neck of the bandit it first hit, and continued on to slaughter the second bandit, an instant before the dagger sank into his abdomen. The third bandit stared in horror at his two suddenly headless companions, and screamed. He began to run away as Entreri extracted his dagger.  
  
Entreri looked thoughtfully at his dagger. He had rarely thrown his own dagger before, and it felt odd to be doing so - but his smile was of cold satisfaction as the dagger thumped into the running bandit's back. He could have just as easily sprinted and run down the bandit, but Jarlaxle's companionship had affected Entreri. He knew not to do that too often, though, as his dagger did not have one of those powerful returning dweomers on it, neither was it anywhere near disposable.  
  
He looked around him - and saw Jarlaxle sitting next to the drunken bandit and his keg at the table, test-tasting some of the brew. His angular face crinkled in disgust, and he spat out the rest of the bitter ale before casually slicing the snoring bandit's throat.  
  
Only Mole remained. The fire and water seemed to have sobered him up a bit, and as he rose, he noticed the two hunters. His eyes opened wide in recognition, and began to scream. "It's the Drizzit! It's the Drizzit, an' his feral, savage, barbarian mate! They's come to kills us! It's the Drizziiiiiit!!!"  
  
Chapter 6 - Unfair odds  
  
Deeper in the caves, Gorgan and Waelic, with the rest of his bandit troupe, nervously fingered their weapons. After the attack on the caravan, their numbers had been decimated - the Jewel had been well protected - but still numbered a dozen strong, even without those in the drinking hall. who they all presumed were dead. They had clearly heard the screams of Mole on fire, and that had indeed roused them all, but what had really set them on edge was his yelling out of the name 'Drizzt' and the subsequent dying shriek.  
  
Now they were all waiting in the Main Cavern, the one that led to the other smaller passages, where the bounty hunters would no doubt end up some time.  
  
Their mage had died in the caravan raid, his face torn off by a guard dog that he'd overlooked. Their best spell caster was now Waelic, who had dabbled in the arts during his time as an apprentice to a minor wizard. He could barely fire a single volley of magic missiles, and that's with full concentration.  
  
The odds just didn't look fair - especially with a sorcerous drow among the enemy.  
  
But then again. what choice did they have?  
  
* * *  
  
Entreri wasn't too surprised when the bandits rushed in. Mole had, after all, screamed quite loudly, obviously enough for anyone within the echoing caves with anything more than half an ear to hear. He readied himself as the bandits formed a circle around him and the still seated Jarlaxle. The dark elf quickly counted his opposition, and noticed something funny. "Hey, assassin," Jarlaxle nudged his companion, who was also coolly regarding his foes. "There are thirteen of them. Isn't that supposed to be unlucky?" "Yes indeed," Entreri murmured quietly, whirling Charon's Claw around. "Today's going to be the most unluckiest of days for those scum."  
  
Jarlaxle chuckled, never bored by Entreri's macabre wit.  
  
"There they are," Waelic trembled, pointing at the two bounty hunters. "I recognise their faces from that bar." "What else do you know about this Drizzit?" Gorgan asked Rynn, the bandit who had spoken before of the renegade. "Any spells he might put on us?" "I don't really know all that well, chief," Rynn said, fingering his sword hilt. "All I ever heard of was him, and Bruenor the dwarven king, Catti- Brie his daughter, Wulfgar the barbarian and." Rynn then suddenly scratched his shaggy head. "And?" Gorgan pressed. "That's right!" Rynn brightened. "He has a big animal he can bring to fight, a big cat I think, a black panther." "A panther cat, eh?" Gorgan said. He'd hunted big cats before - big, quite intelligent, but stupid enough for an easy kill. "The cat won't be a problem." Gorgan said confidently.  
  
"Should we rush them?" Entreri whispered, his patience running out, quickly tiring of this standoff. "I'm sure we could." "Hush," Jarlaxle whispered back. "Here they come." "You killed some of my men," Gorgan said, striding up to the two, flanked by two burly guards. "Why?" "They were drunk." Jarlaxle said. Gorgan turned to regard the dark elf. "Where's the rest of yer friends, black demon?" Gorgan said. "The dwarf? The girl? How about that panther you keeps with you all the time?" Jarlaxle looked to Entreri, who only shrugged back in reply. Apparently their masquerade as the heroes of Icewind Dale had reached the bandits' ears as well. "Black panther?" Jarlaxle opened his hands wide. "I have no black panther. Perhaps you have confused information about Guenhwyvar, my great large pink bird warrior comrade." "Wotever it is." Gorgan growled. "What do you want? Why are you here?" "I'd thought that would be obvious by now," Jarlaxle laughed. "Isn't it obvious?" "We're here to kill you," Entreri said, readying his crimson blade. "I need your head to collect my prize, and the head of that skinny one behind you as well. You others may leave, or meet your death." The bandits shifted their feet uneasily at the eerie calm of the man, while the two guards moved forward to put themselves between Gorgan and Entreri. "Well, you can't have neither," Gorgan growled. "You're in my territory now. Surrender or die." "I'm glad we got that out of the way." Entreri remarked as he smoothly relieved the closest bandit bodyguard of his head with a sweeping backhand. Even before all the droplets of blood hit the ground, Entreri gutted the other guard with his dagger, opening a gaping gorge in the unfortunate man's belly. The action started as soon as the bandits recovered. Realising that the only way to continue life was to kill these two intruders, the bandits began to close in on them, hoping to win out with greater numbers.  
  
Gorgan had drawn his sabre as soon as he had seen Entreri move. He charged towards the dark elf seated on the table.  
  
Splat.  
  
Gorgan didn't know what hit him. One moment, he was charging, wondering if the dark elf before him was as deadly as the human warrior, then the next moment he was hurled back against the back wall, unable to move a muscle.  
  
Jarlaxle looked at the bandit, transfixed to the wall by the sticky green goo. He then looked to Entreri, a whirling cyclone, both blades gleaming and spinning in a dance of death. The dark elf muttered something about skill being more challenging than efficiency, and tucked the wand back in his belt. He then snapped out his daggers, speaking out their command words.  
  
Bandits halted in their tracks, suddenly aware of the gleaming, slender curved swords that cut patterns into the air as the drow pumped his arms. The ten bandits that remained in the fight had a hard choice between a drow and an assassin, both terrifying.  
  
Waelic was the remaining leader. Though he was also frightened, he kept enough of his head to yell out orders. "Rynn! Huggy! Rush that assassin and just keep him busy. The rest of you, follow me! Charge the black elf! We have to kill 'em one by one!"  
  
The cavern was a drinking hall, thus was one of the biggest ones in the cave complex. The high ceiling gave the swashbuckler mercenary plenty of room for his broad fighting technique. Spinning off to the side, Jarlaxle met two of the bandits head on. He stuck out one sword just to see what they'd do. One kept his balance, but the other panicked and swung out wide. Jarlaxle shrugged at the bandit's inexperience and planted his other sword into his chest. He then quickly reversed his momentum and spun the other way, smacking the other bandit's sword out of the way to stick him with the other, already bloodied blade.  
  
Entreri scoffed as only two of the bandits approached him. Apparently Jarlaxle's heritage marked him out as the more dangerous foe. Oh, how he was boiling inside to prove them wrong.  
  
Chapter 7 - Cruel Feats  
  
Jarlaxle smiled as the six bandits tried to surround him. He let them do that - he knew how to fight like this. He had slaughtered goblins by the tribe using the goblins' inexperience and lack of coordination against each other. Except it wasn't quite as dark as Jarlaxle would have liked. Soon, two well-placed globes of impenetrable darkness swallowed up the light of five torches that lined the cavern's interior. Now the only light that could be seen was the dim flicker from around the corner, and the terrifying, hungry white gleam of the blade of Entreri.  
  
Jarlaxle could see the bandits' faces flush in fear and apprehension. Fear was an advantage, heightened by his heritage. Fingering a golden ring with a sky blue gem studded in opposite sides, Jarlaxle readied himself for a strategy he'd used and practiced many times before. Waelic didn't know what to do. He could feel himself beginning to panic in the darkness. If only he could remember how to summon a ball of light. But to Waelic, in his agitated state, the words and runes kept on slipping away. There was nothing to do but press the attack. "C. Come on," Waelic said half-heartedly. "It's only one bloody drow!"  
  
Jarlaxle saw the bandits beginning to move in. Their swords looked like flames in their hands, as to the drow elf's heat-sensitive eyes, the heat from the bandits' hands crept up the blades in yellow-orange streaks. He planned his move, and suddenly exploded into action.  
  
Leaping about in the circle made by the bandits surrounding him, Jarlaxle swept out his long blades in opposite directions, smacking away, aiming purposefully at the weapons, not the flesh. Rapidly swinging his twin swords, Jarlaxle managed to hit each bandit's weapon at least twice. He saw all the bandits wrinkle up their faces in fear and surprise, as they each felt the forceful jolts on their weapons. Now more than half panicked, the lot of them then got ready to rush in.  
  
Jarlaxle smiled as he created a dimension door portal and stepped through it, ending up about twenty feet away, outside the circle of bandits. Tucking his now-shrunk daggers in his belt, Jarlaxle leaned against the wall to enjoy the spectacle.  
  
For a moment, Waelic hesitated. He could feel that some magic had been used, but he wasn't experienced enough to discern from the emanations what type of enchantment had been cast. Not knowing what the devilish drow had done only heightened his state of panic, and made him rush towards the unseen enemy.  
  
Jarlaxle snickered, giggled, chuckled, then finally erupted in boisterous laughter as the bandits impaled and slashed at each other, believing each other to be the unseen enemy, and assuming that the screams of pain came from the drow killing his companions. Soon, three bandits lay on the ground, two very still and one struggling with a bleeding belly.  
  
Entreri did not need, did not bother with such crafty tactics. He had simply waded in and ran a terrified bandit through the chest before Jarlaxle darkened the room. Even then, Entreri didn't bother to lessen the glow of his dagger, which revealed his position to the remaining bandit. He didn't sheathe the white blade, either. The bandit, seeing his advantage, tried to sneak around to flank the assassin.  
  
To Artemis Entreri, who had mastered life in the silent sheath of shadows, the bandit's clumsy attempts at stealth were like the clatter of heavy hooves on stone.  
  
He lay still until he could hear the bandit swing his blade. The bandit was confident, as he could see the glowing blade there, and the forearm that gripped it, and to the position of the blade, the intruder's head was directly in line with his heavy scimitar.  
  
* * *  
  
"I think we got him!" Waelic cried exultantly. "I hit him, and hard!" "He got quite a few of us," said another bandit. "But we got him. I felt my axe sinkin' up 'is belly, a good lot of his blood's on me hand." "Someone light a torch. 'Tis dark in here."  
  
* * *  
  
Entreri burst into motion, and the white glowing blade moved fast, too fast for the bandit. It turned aside, swung wide and battered away his scimitar. Before he could react, though, it was already darting towards his hand, slashing the fingers. Crying aloud in pain, he could see the blade now coated in his own blood, glowing red. The bandit's terror increased tenfold as he saw the assassin's morbid, glittering crimson sword blade snaking towards him as dim light returned in the drinking cavern.  
  
As Entreri's opponent was terrified, Waelic was confused. There were three of his bandits there, on the ground, dead or dying, but. "Drow don't dip-si-payte when they die, do they?" Waelic asked. "I seen a few creatures who do that. But I didn't know black elves did that too." "Fortunately not, my friend," Jarlaxle said, sinking a dagger into the ex- wizard bandit's throat. "If our corpses didn't stay around to tell the tale, the intrigue in our beautiful cities would be much less interesting."  
  
The two other bandits were too struck dumb with confusion and terror to react much at all.  
  
Jarlaxle sighed as he wiped his blades. "They have dumb expressions even when they're dead." "I'd have thought," Entreri said, pleased that the long hunt was finished at last. "I'd have thought, if drow didn't leave corpses, then it would be more chaotic in your city. More pleasure for the Spider Queen." "Perhaps you're right," Jarlaxle scratched his chin again. "If I killed a Matron and her corpse merely withered away." the mercenary entertained those thoughts. "Why don't you fervently pray to Lolth to grant her drow subjects with dissipating carcasses?" Entreri snickered. "I'm sure your benevolent Spider Queen will grant your wishes. She's notorious for her generosity, is she not?" "Let us worry about the things at hand," Jarlaxle replied with a grin. "I may consider it when I return to Menzoberranzan. For now, let us check on the Jewel."  
  
Chapter 8 - Wrapping up  
  
Jarlaxle could sense that the web spell was nearly spent. He was ready when it did disappear, and before Gorgan could react, Jarlaxle and Entreri had him bound. The bandit leader struggled helplessly at the unyielding rope as Jarlaxle planted a foot on his back and plucked the enormous sapphire from around his neck. "The Jewel of House Davian," Jarlaxle remarked. "Quite the beauty." Entreri looked quizzically at his companion, whose voice had sounded quite unemotional, even bored to the assassin.  
  
And how disappointed the drow mercenary was. In front of his eyes dangled a simple magical enchantment that would charm lesser beings. He saw the lump of obsidian for what it was - a cruel joke played on a local aristocrat by a wizard, perhaps? Jarlaxle smiled wryly at the fact that this prank had been revered and treasured down as a family heirloom. for six generations, Lord Davian had said.  
  
The look on his companion's face verified what Entreri had suspected - The gem was, apparently, next to worthless. Entreri then wondered what his companion was up to, as Jarlaxle had one of those mocking smiles on his face as he approached the bound bandit. Jarlaxle simply nudged the bandit enough so that he'd look up. He then smiled, dropped the jewel on the ground, and crushed it to a million shards with his black-heeled boots, making a rather nice, loud crunchy-click sound.  
  
The bandit's eyes widened so much that the eyeballs looked about to simply roll out of their sockets. He stuttered at Jarlaxle and at the shards, then screamed. "The. My. Jew. Bloody. Damned Drow. Broke my. Aaaargh!!!" The foolish man scrambled to his feet and charged the leader of Bregan D'aerthe with his arms tied behind his back. Jarlaxle casually tripped him onto a dagger in his left hand, the force of the stab lifting the bandit from the ground by the belly, belying the strength in the drow elf's seemingly frail arms.  
  
"Worthless?" Entreri questioned his companion. "If it fooled a family for six generations, surely it would have fooled any common jeweller?" "Not a skilled one," Jarlaxle replied, gesturing the shards of black obsidian. "A simple enchantment. The Davians must have been extremely dumb to not have checked it for magical properties." "We should have simply returned it." "Did you see the look on the bandit's face?" "Yes." "It was worth is, wasn't it?" "No. Angrily horrified. I see that expression all the time." "Well, it was amusing." "I should have killed the bastard." Entreri said, glaring at the corpse of Gorgan. "Now we've lost a thousand gold pieces." Jarlaxle smiled. He knew Entreri didn't mind the loss of a third of their revenue. "We'd better collect the heads." Entreri said. Jarlaxle made a face. "Well, you don't plan on carrying their corpses all the way back to House Davian?" "I guess not," Jarlaxle muttered, but still didn't move. He'd had lackeys before to do such things for him. The drow elf then grimaced distastefully as Entreri moved efficiently from the two bandit leaders' corpses. "Don't tell me I'm making you ill," Entreri said, bouncing two bloody bags. "It's only two heads. The fact that they're empty only lightens their load." "I've never had to carry such things around too often," Jarlaxle replied. "I try to have as little blood showing on my hands as possible." Entreri chuckled as he tossed one of the bags to the mercenary. Jarlaxle simply stepped aside, letting the bag bounce twice on the ground. "We do have to take them." Entreri said, tying his bag to his side. "I know." The drow uncoiled a rope from his wrist.  
  
It was enchanted, as Entreri observed, and coiled itself around the bag's knot like a snake when Jarlaxle spoke a word - it soon became a very useful carrying cord.  
  
"Let us depart," Jarlaxle said. "The smell of man-blood slightly nauseates me." "It's not as if drow blood smells any different," Entreri replied with a sneer. "If anything, I prefer human blood." "But it smells like beasts."  
  
Leaving the caves and a whole bandit band slain, the two companions bickered about the smell of their respective races' blood. Entreri was gaining the upper hand.  
  
NOTES:  
  
The Diatryma bird, I noticed, was actually a real prehistoric bird. I'd thought it was a TSR creation for D&D. A picture of it may be found here.  
  
  
Some say that Entreri seems too soft. I don't think so; especially after 'Servant of the Shard'. you could even say that the evil man's beginning to act almost human.  
  
The relationship between Jarlaxle and Entreri also seems a bit too informal and 'without tension', but that's because this is a fun story - I'd just wanted to borrow Mr. Salvatore's excellent and entertaining characters and experiment with them a bit, that's all.  
  
A bandit being named 'Huggy' is just a joke. 


End file.
